


The Popsicle

by Cherry_Pye



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Dean/Sam - Freeform, Desperate Dean, Desperate Sam, First Time, Guilty Dean, M/M, Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester - Freeform, Sam/Dean - Freeform, Slow Build, Smut, Teen Sam, Weecest, Wincest - Freeform, blowjob, dean Winchester/ Sam winchester - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-23 20:52:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19158763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cherry_Pye/pseuds/Cherry_Pye
Summary: Sam decides Dean needs a “nudge” in the right direction and gets his flirt on. Dean has never been good at denying his little brother.-HEAVY SMUT BETWEEN BROS. Sam is teenaged. Also pretty angsty so keep that in mind





	The Popsicle

**Author's Note:**

> FINALLY POSTED AS THE FINAL DRAFT! 
> 
> Just trust me on this one, if you read it before today, read it again now. It is infinitely better and has left me needing a cold shower and a few slaps to the face in order to pull myself together again. Yep. Ohhh boy.
> 
>  
> 
> This is my second story written about the boys watching a movie together and what unfolds. I was only going to post one, because in some ways they’re fairly similar and even share phrases, but in other ways they’re completely different (and are even told from different POVs), so I figured they might as well both be posted. Oh and by the way, I have literally an inexcusable amount of writing to post here (I disappeared from ao3 but kept spouting out stories/chapters of existing stories etc.), so hopefully I’ll get it all up soon!

It had been five weeks.

Five eternity-containing fucking weeks.

Sam knew he wasn’t allowed to talk about it, that even alluding to it would be the swiftest way to grind anything that might be working its way out of Dean to a halt, but…fuck.

Just…fuck…

He glued his gaze to the scratched, boxy screen in front of them, pushing his fingers into his lap impatiently and tugging his mouth into a small, anxious frown.

“Always had such a pretty pout,” Dean suddenly hummed in a vibrating purr, flexing his legs further up onto the table and heating Sam’s stomach to a low boil.

“-and jeez, okay, okay,” Dean continued with a huff, examining Sam’s expression and throwing his hands up in mock exasperation, “-we can change it back to the-the…what is it? The stupid bird thing, the documentary. No need to get mopey you big dork.”

Sam gaped at his brother for a long moment, piecing his thoughts back together enough to remember what Dean was even referring to and finally managing to mumble out a very quiet and embarrassingly-breathless “no-no, I-…no, you, just…put on, uh, anything, whatever you want. It’s fine. And don’t call me pretty…jerk.”

Dean just laughed at that with an amused little shake of his head, tousling Sam’s hair with one hand and thumbing down on the remote with the other, flicking through a few more channels before settling on something Sam didn’t care enough to focus on.

It’s not like he’d actually be paying attention to it, anyway.

“Pick it up…pick it up,” he silently willed, his eyes fixed resolutely once again on the bottle of whiskey next to Dean’s boot on the table.

Dean wasn’t nearly intoxicated enough yet to slip up and do something sloppy, and Sam didn’t think he could stand it if he didn’t get just one little moment, a few seconds even, of the still-new and unbearably rare physical intimacy he craved so fucking badly from his brother, especially on nights like tonight, when it was just the two of them.

It wasn’t that Dean didn’t feel the same way about him.

No, Sam had been able to see it burning almost wildly at times in his brother’s eyes for at least a year now, maybe even two (whenever Dean thought he was privately staring), but Dean just wasn’t-he couldn’t-

He couldn’t seem to admit it to himself, to fully think it, or if he did, he was better than anyone had any right to be at locking it up tight and keeping Sam from catching so much as a glimpse of it, outside of the long looks and the intoxicated handsyness anyway.

Sam knew it was going to break him someday…this barely even there yet constant enough to keep him torturously on the hook “thing” between him and Dean, but…just…he just wanted it, so goddamned much…all the time.

It was all he could think about most days.

Clearing his throat, he disentangled himself from Dean’s legs, hauling himself to his feet and feeling…well, he wasn’t entirely sure _how_ he was feeling, but he did know that if Dean wasn’t planning on getting trashed anytime soon, he was going to have to up his game.

“I’m gonna…grab-a-snack,” he flustered out, too quickly at the end, taking a long time to stretch luxuriously and making sure to bend backwards just enough with it to tug his too-small t-shirt a couple of inches up from his belt before turning on his heels and praying that his little display hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“You, uh, want…anything?”

Dean didn’t respond for at least three seconds as Sam counted in his head, hovering by the couch with his back determinedly facing his brother and hooking his thumbs under the sides of his belt to tug a bit at his jeans…just for good measure.

Dean’s silence was definitely promising.

Was it…possible? Just maybe?

“Uh, just uh…nah-n-nah, I’m…good,” Dean finally breathed out, his voice at least half an octave lower, and Sam’s chest spun with little flickers of electricity, his mouth twitching into a hidden smile as he walked as casually as he possibly could into the kitchen, indulging himself with a little excited leap to brush his fingers against the overhead light as soon as he was out of view.

He stood there for a moment half bent over to steady his breath before straightening up again to move on light feet toward the fridge, peering at the hardly-stocked shelves and using his brief moment away from Dean’s mind numbing smiles to try to patch together some kind of a haphazard plan.

Opening the freezer next, he landed on a reckless, cliché, but still undeniably hot idea that made him blush furiously, his throat constricting nervously and his cock betraying him with a strained pulse under the heavy denim of his jeans.

_Keep it together. Come on._

Willing himself back into a state of mock composure, he hesitated with an outstretched hand, doubt and uncertainty creeping in around the edges of his mind as he played it all out in his head, wondering if it would be too obvious…or…or not obvious enough?

Would it seem juvenile? Would it fly right over Dean’s head? Would it-

“You cataloguing the kitchen in there, Sammy?”

Sam turned too quickly in surprise, his forehead connecting with the still-open freezer door.

“Ow, fuck-I mean, ah, yeah-no…no, uh, coming.”

Biting his lip through one more hasty mental back-and-forth, he finally snatched one of the popsicles, holding it mostly concealed behind his hip like some kind of contraband as he padded back toward the couch to ease down a bit shakily as close to Dean as he could manage without seeming suspicious.

 _Please don’t ask me what I got. Please don’t_ -

“So, what’d ya find in there? Anything good?” Dean pressed, cocking his head in Sam’s direction, his smooth, self-assured smile already back in full after Sam’s short absence, and Sam exhaled in a little puff, parting his lips around a nonexistent word before forcing his nerves to the bottom of his stomach and deciding….to hell with it.

What would be the worst that could happen?

He’d end up back where he started?

Fucking to hell with it…

“Yeah, yeah…I only grabbed one though, ‘cause you said-”

Sam let the rest of the sentence fade out as he busied himself with very slowly putting on a blatantly-over-the-top show of peeling the sticky plastic from the popsicle, dropping it finally to the table in a crumpled ball and fixing his eyes stubbornly on the TV as he honed in acutely on everything he could register of Dean’s reaction with the full strain of his senses.

Damn it. He couldn’t tell.

Although…Dean still had yet to respond, and a second speechless moment directly following the first certainly wasn’t a loss.

Until-

“Huh, ye-…good, uh, that’s-, that’s good, that we…that we had, something I mean.”

Sam’s head buzzed hotly, his arms pricking with immediate goosebumps as he locked another layer of his periphery onto his brother...Dean’s breath actually audibly hitched, now, and his knee twitching erratically where it was brushed just slightly up against Sam’s.

Dean was…was actually flustered… _flustered_ …already, and it was so much fucking better than Sam could have ever imagined...fueling his determination to see this through to whatever end as he wrapped his lips around the icy sweetness and used his other hand to fold his hair behind his ears, needing to be certain that nothing would obscure Dean’s view of his mouth.

He’d always fantasized about Dean having a particular weakness for blow jobs, and apparently…he hadn’t been off base, because as he pointedly trailed the tip of his tongue across the top of the popsicle and then down the full stretch of its length, hoping it was an accurate enough mimic of licking a cock (his only experience in the matter had been muted clips of bad pornos), Dean stopped breathing altogether, only sucking in a noisy breath that he tried to swallow after at least six seconds of Sam’s provocations had ticked by.

Sam wondered with a stab of heat in his gut if Dean knew that HE knew that Dean was watching him, and he upped his antics by a couple of notches at the thought, pulling up still-shots of porn scenes in his mind and trying to copy what he could remember without crossing over that line into being utterly transparent and scaring Dean away before anything had even really happened.

Despite this being his most promising shot yet at convincing Dean to abandon his already-failing moral compass as far as the term “little brother” was concerned, and without having to get so drunk first that half the time he barely remembered the fleeting, over-the-clothes and above-the-belt touches afterward, Sam’s expectations were still pretty low when it came to what he was actually hoping for with Dean.

Just the fact that he’d succeeded in getting Dean worked up like this would give him material to jack off to for fucking weeks, but what he desperately wanted…craved…was for Dean to acknowledge it out loud…to say it, to…to admit it.

Even just once.

Daring to lean back just slightly and capturing more of his brother in his line of sight, Sam surreptitiously surveyed Dean in a quick side-glance while he worked his head in a small downward bob onto the popsicle, giving his lips a noisy smack as he pulled off at the top and trailing his tongue out to once again flick teasingly at the melting ice.

He was fully hard now, no longer trying even remotely to fight it or hide it, but...it was dark…enough, and Dean’s focus was clearly elsewhere.

Besides…it must be undeniable by now what he was doing, what he was trying to do, and Dean at least wasn’t putting a stop to it, so-

With a scratchy buzz, the TV staticked to black, and Sam instantly froze all the way down to his molecules, his gaze unblinking on Dean’s suddenly outstretched arm…on the remote gripped tightly between his fingers.

An impossibly long few seconds of continued silence scraped by while Sam held the popsicle between his parted lips, breathless and waiting and completely speechless until Dean finally shifted a fraction of an inch beside him, moving to press his thigh into Sam’s and sighing in a quiet hiss as if through clenched teeth.

“What, uh, what…are you…doing, Sammy?” he managed in a very low, very rough voice that plucked at Sam’s pulse like guitar strings, shooting almost painful little shivers up and down the length of Sam’s bare arms despite the near-overwhelming heat of the late-August air.

“I-I…you,” Sam stammered breathlessly, tugging the popsicle from his lips and shakily turning his head with his eyes wide on Dean’s silhouette in the shadowed room, “I was-I…was…wasn’t it…obvious?”

Fuck...

He couldn’t believe he’d said it out loud, immediately wishing he could shove it back down his throat, suck it back inside of him, knowing with a sinking chill that Dean was certainly going to pull away, but-

Dean’s chest heaved as he exhaled Sam’s name in a long, breathy whisper, one hand nervously pulling up to iron across his forehead and the muscles in his leg clenching wildly against Sam.

“You-…”

He trailed off immediately like he couldn’t figure out what to say...what he wanted to say or what he _should_ say, and Sam suddenly found himself, without thinking, without giving himself time to logic his way out of it, dropping his popsicle to the table and sliding in one swift, fluid movement to his knees onto the floor to dip breathlessly under Dean’s leg, easing the full length of his upper body snugly in between his brother’s thighs.

Dean actually gasped, hitching backward on the couch as if he’d he’d been burned, his piercing eyes locked onto Sam and his expression pinching into one of pained shock as Sam rutted his hips uncontrollably forward, planting his palms above Dean’s knees and fixing his brother with a desperate, pleading stare.

“Dean,” he begged through a quiet groan, rubbing in with his fingertips and inching his way even closer, “Dean…please. Please. It’s-it’s okay, god-…it’s more than-…I…just…let me, please…”

Dean’s breath was harsh and jagged, his legs tense and shaking under Sam’s touch, and he twitched backward another inch at Sam’s plea with a stifled, strangled sound deep in his chest that was somewhere between a groan and a cry, erupting Sam’s stomach with a flood of guilt-laced arousal that simultaneously had his chest aching and his mouth watering in raw, hopeful, anxious anticipation.

“Sammy-fuck, f-fuck,” Dean choked out, his voice dripping with obvious want and worry, “I-I..oh god, Sammy, I should never have-fuck, I’m so…I’m so sorry, Sammy. It’s my fault. You can’t-you gotta-”

His words bled into a frantic groan as he trembled his fingertips over the backs of Sam’s hands, and Sam just couldn’t stop himself anymore...could no longer control it…hauling himself up from his haunches and tugging one of his hands free to wrap his fingers around Dean’s wrist and urge his brother’s hand forward with a needy, wordless pant.

Dean tried weakly to yank back as he realized what Sam was doing but with almost no effort, and it was too late…

With a soft, broken whine of “De-an,” Sam pressed Dean’s palm to the hard outline of his cock through his jeans, bucking furiously with his hips and keening backward at the waist as he waited anxiously for Dean to react one way or another, having absolutely no idea what he would do, if he would get angry, if he would just walk away...whether or not he would even-

Dean’s breath froze in his lungs as he threw his head silently back against the couch with a dull thud, his fingers now moving of their own volition, grabbing, rubbing upward, touching Sam everywhere as his torso muscles seized and unseized like writhing snakes and his free hand clawed at the cushion beside him in a frenzy, gripping the worn fabric so tightly that a patch of it ripped off in his fist, exposing the downy layer underneath.

Sam couldn’t breathe...couldn’t think, couldn’t even hold himself upright against the overwhelming heat of this as he collapsed into a litany of shameless moans, unable to hold back or even reign in the slutty, desperate, dirty barrage of begs and cries leaking from his center as Dean palmed him with rough, almost painful, fucking perfect jerks and squeezes that felt so much fucking better in ways he couldn’t even fully comprehend than any of the hundreds of times he’d touched himself.

And Dean was suddenly moving again, now, scrambling forward and sucking in quick, violent huffs of air as both of his hands jerked impatiently to his lap to fumble with his own fly, struggling clumsily with his belt, with his zipper, and finally practically tearing open the front of his jeans with a primal growl that nearly had Sam cumming on the spot.

“Fuck-…fuck, fuck-f-fuck,” Dean echoed through clenched teeth, like the best broken record imaginable, lunging forward again with his upper body to fist his hands roughly into Sam’s hair and immediately urge downward with an unyielding grip, Sam’s own cock jerking painfully again with a stabbing rush of blood as he processed what was happening, what was-…oh god…what was actually happening.

With a desperate whine that tightened Dean’s grip in Sam’s mussed hair even further still, Sam melted into his brother’s lap like butter, his hands finding Dean’s cock through damp cotton and wrapping around it greedily...relishing it, worshipping the feel of it and wasting no time before tugging open the unwanted fabric and running his fingertips reverently down its bare, velvety length.

Dean was instantly wracked by it, his entire body convulsing and arching upward as he groaned out half words and growls and bits of Sam’s name on repeat, kneading into Sam’s scalp before managing to lean back enough to watch with wide, wet eyes and parted lips like he couldn’t stand to not see it, like he was trying to memorize every detail, every second, like Sam was made of gold and cheeseburgers and whiskey and fast cars and it was...fuck-

It was the closest Sam figured he’d probably ever get to heaven.

He pressed his cheek to the wet head of his brother’s cock with another shallow gasp and a thrust of his hips against the base of the couch, suddenly needing to rub with as much of his face as he could while he inhaled Dean’s maddening, mind-numbing scent that was already close to driving him insane, moving in with his lips and immediately lapping then with his tongue, desperate for more.

Dean actually cried out, his cock leaking and twitching obscenely as Sam licked at it hungrily, frantically, bowing down with his head to take Dean fully into his mouth and needing all of it right away, his head lunging in an eager bob and his throat opening around the invasion as he whimpered at the feel of his brother’s cock filling him up so completely…immediately addicted to it.

Dean couldn’t contain himself.

He was panting out a constant stream of loud, groaned swears, his heels grinding brutally into the carpet and his fingers knotting tightly through Sam’s hair, a sheen of sweat already glossing his skin and his face contorted into an expression of pure, perfect, fuck-roughed desire that Sam knew without a doubt would be permanently branded into his mind.

“Fuck, fu-, baby, S-Sammy, unn-, Jesus, god, not gonna-, oh fuck, Sa-Sammy-”

Dean yanked downward hard with his grip in Sam’s hair out of nowhere, and like a coiled spring being released, Sam was suddenly cumming untouched in his jeans, moaning like a damn porn star around Dean’s cock and rutting into the couch violently as wave after wave of it shocked through him.

Dean’s entire body seized around another pained cry.

“God, did you, Sammy-did…fuck, you just..Jesus fucking christ, hhhnn, Sa-, gonna, fuck, Sammy-”

Sam opened up even further for Dean, planting his palms and sliding up and down on his brother’s cock all the way to its base, taking Dean deep down into the back of his throat and continuing his rapid head pumps through gags and moans as Dean came with an animalistic growling sob of a sound, crushing his nails into the back of Sam’s head and rocking forward in rough, uneven jerks while every muscle in his body spasmed in tight, strained clenches.

God-...god...

Sam was blissfully overwhelmed by it, by the sensation of pure…Dean just...forced into him, flooding him, captivating the full stretch of his senses.

Nothing could ever compare to it. Nothing.

And fuck…Dean was torn apart in ways that Sam couldn’t have ever imagined in even his dirtiest fantasies, his eyes rolled back and a constant half-groan/half-snarl leaking from his chest as Sam continued to eagerly suck and lap, wanting everything, _needing_ everything, every last drop, wishing he could keep going forever...

But Dean’s fingers were all too soon working at his hair again, tugging him up and easing him back, his eyes red around the edges and filled with too much emotion to categorize as he stared wordlessly down at Sam’s sweat and cum damp face.

There was…there was so much…so much. So much to say, to feel…just…so much.

Sam keened forward to press his face into Dean’s bare thigh, suddenly exhausted…not knowing if he wanted to cry or laugh or beg, just knowing that he would die if Dean took it all away again and trembling as he half-sobbed a muffled, fragmented plea into his brother’s skin.

“Dean-I can’t, you-you can’t…please, I can’t go back to how it…how it was. You can’t…do that to me. Tell me you won’t d-”

Dean cut him off with a soft shushing noise, holding him close with shoulders that were heaving around irregular shudders like he might be silently crying...although Sam knew right away that he wasn’t going to look, wasn’t going to check...didn’t want to know or maybe just wasn’t prepared to handle knowing...

“Jesus, ba-….uh, Sammy, fuck I don’t, I don’t know what to…”

Dean broke off, forcing in a deep breath, and Sam squeezed his eyes tightly shut, pressing his lips into Dean’s thigh and kissing his brother through a rush of love and sadness and a million other things that he couldn’t even begin to process.

“It’s okay, Dean,” he finally whispered, still panting a little, his fingers reaching for Dean’s sides and sliding down them, trying to reassure, to comfort, to somehow make Dean understand the truth. “You didn’t…you didn’t do anything wrong-you…it’s okay, god, Dean, it’s so much-…so much more than that.”

Dean made a small, wounded sound in response, bending to blanket Sam with his upper body and crying undeniably now, the uneven sobs still silent but wetting Sam’s back as Dean tightened his hold.

“I know…I know you think that, Sammy,” he whispered, rocking them both slowly and circling over Sam’s back in trembling presses with the pads of his thumbs. “I just-….fuck…I know…I know you think that…”


End file.
